A Story from Mossflower
by toh-yaaah
Summary: Dark times loom over Redwall. A mouse dreams of blood and agony. Will the aging Abbot reclaim the title of Champion, or will a new warrior rise up to protect the innocent?
1. Chapter 1

Mossflower country lay bathing in the radiant summer sun. A mild breeze blew through an open window at the Redwall Abbey, carrying hints of fruits from the orchard, and freshly baked bread from the kitchen. Abbot Titian stood at the sill and closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the noontime sun on his face. The Abbot was a large, fit mouse, even in his old age. His grey whiskers twitched as his peaceful solitude was interrupted by three timid knocks at his door. He heard a floorboard in the hall creek, and some shuffling of bare paws.

"Hold it!" The Abbot turned and navigated through the messy room, which was littered with scrolls and books. He opened the door and gazed down the hall, where a supply closet door had just been shut. With a deep sigh, Titian approached the closet and opened it to find a younger, smaller mouse that acted to inspect a broom. He feigned surprise when the Abbot discovered his hiding place.

"Ah! Father Titian, my humblest apologies! I had a thought you may have left. I was just about to go looking for you elsewhere!" The young mouse spoke quickly, as if he had rehearsed it many times. He held the broom tightly in both paws, and uncomfortably shifted his weight from one leg to the next. Titian couldn't help but to chuckle.

"And, pray tell, Brother Hugo, were you retrieving a broom to whack me over the head with? As the hares would say, 'bad form, wot!'" He smiled then, hoping that the joke and a pleasant visage would disarm some of the tension. Brother Hugo was a young novice when Titian was in his prime, as the Champion of Redwall. To the regret of both, Hugo witnessed some substantial bloodshed. The mouse laughed along, and set the broom back against the wall before both mice walked back to Abbot Titian's room.

"Of course not, Father. I don't suppose that I could even have the chance to make a move against yourself! Although, I suppose if I were quick and sneaky..."

"Oh, don't say such things, or I'll have to fetch Martin's sword as a precaution!"

"Maybe it would be better if I were to use the sword of Martin! Mayhaps it would even out the odds!"

"Such lies! A badger lord wouldn't be able to fend you off if you carried the blade!"

Titian kept a respectful distance between them as they walked. He enjoyed their light-hearted banter, but he knew that the awkward mouse was still intimidated of him. Hugo fell silent as they entered the room, and accepted a stool that the Abbot cleared off for him. Even the chairs had old records piled on top of them. Titian sat behind his desk and frowned at the other mouse.

"What is troubling you, my friend?" His strong, jovial tone shifted to soft empathy. Hugo slumped in the stool, examining the floorboards and twiddling his feet. He remained silent for a bit, then spoke up, still avoiding eye contact.

"I've been having dreams again. Not good dreams, but bad, horrendous dreams. The dreams are so familiar, as though I have lived them before." The mouse clenched his paws together and failed to hold back a sob. "There is a lot of blood, Father Abbot, a lot of blood, and crying beasts, good and bad." Titian wiped a tear from his cheek.

"You need to calm down, Hugo. Come now, I'll walk you down to the infirmary. I think that Sister Chrys has some special mint to help calm the mind." He stood then, but froze to see Hugo's eyes locked with his. The light from the sun seemed to grow dimmer as he stood, transfixed on the wide, shocked eyes of Brother Hugo staring right through him.

"There was something new about the last dream, though. There was a cloaked, hooded beast, I think a mouse. I felt as though I knew him very well. He approached me, and I felt so small and so humbled. I knew that I was safe." Both mice held still, staring at each other. Birds picked twigs and nuts from the orchard, and dibbuns played in the yard. The cooks continued to prepare lunch, and a group of elders sat by the pond, telling fishing stories. Mossflower progressed on without a worry.

"I think there are going to be some bad times ahead of us, Father Abbot." Hugo stood and shuffled out of the room. Titian wrapped his arms around himself and turned to the window, gazing at the yard and impenetrable walls.

What could possibly be on the horizon for his peaceful abbey?


	2. Chapter 2

The Northern Coasts lay stagnant under a smooth, grey sky. Light, inconsistent rain dampened the rocky coast and sparse woods. Chilled, moist wind blew constantly, yet calmly. Under an ancient, dead oak, at the border of the woods and the coast, stood a congregation of vermin. They silently wished for the sun to bring respite to the mild torment and they watched a rat of their own pile together a small cairn.

"Poor ol' Cludge. He was a good cap'n, he was."

"Aye, 'e will be missed."

"Oi rember that toime we fought off a buncha crows dat was eatin' a mousey fam'ly's plants"

"An' all the vittles they gave us'n as thanks!"

"Aye, honest, hard work pays well, it does."

"'Ow about that 'ole season we was wit dem 'edgepigs? Oi sure miss dem cozy beds!"

"Why'd they take us in?"

"Idjit, we killed da big eagle dat was eatin' 'em up!"

"No, mate, that was them moles who couldn't leave them's tunnels."

The rat carefully positioned the last stone on the cairn through teary eyes. "We sure did have good times with ol' Cludge, eh mateys?"

"Oh, git on wid it, you sniveling welps. I'm freezing!" The voice belonged to a slender, strong stoat, well-fed and healthy. His fur was dark brown and sleek, his eyes were lit with ambitious thoughts. He sat on a stump at the rear of the group. "Oh, boo hoo," he mocked, "Old Cap'n Cludge has gone to 'ellgates! Well what do you lot care?"

This agitated the crew, each shouting in protest. The funeral spoiled, they turned to face the stoat.

"He was a fair cap'n!"

"Aye, he kept us fed an' warm!"

"We've got good lives, cuz of him!"

A brave weasel took menacing steps towards the stoat, pointing a dagger at him. "We don't want you ruinin' what your poor ol' dad gave us, Baelin" The rest of the crew yelled their support. Their consensus turn to confusion as the weasel took a step back, and fell backwards to the cold, damp earth. He gurgled and tilted his head back to the crew, staring pleadingly at them as his eyes clouded over. A knife protruded ominously from his throat. The crew stood still, shocked and transfixed by the calm, yet grusom display. The stoat sauntered towards the felled weasel, whistling an unknown tune. He crouched to retrieve his knife, rubbing the blood off on the weasel's furred face and shoving into his belt. He grabbed the deadbeast by the tunic and dragged him towards the group. Some drew their weapons, a variety of swords, daggers, axes, and spears.

"Stay back, you murderer!"

"Why'd you do it, Bael? Slagtooth was my mate!"

"He never harmed nobeast!"

Baelin stopped and laughed, holding the weasel in one paw, and brushing open his plain, red cloak with the other, resting it on his hip. He displayed a bandolier filled with myriad knives - some plain, some exotic, and some made just for throwing. Each was razor sharp, nonetheless. The damp air clung to the cold steel, causing their polished finish to turn to a dull, grey matte.

"Look at you foolish lot!" He played with the handle of one of the knives, debating if it was his favorite. "Only me own father could best me in a fight, and he's gone an' made you all soft! Yer all fat an' slow! Content with the easy life! Slagtooth raised a weapon but wasn't ready for a fight. Pathetic!" He pulled the knife out of place and tossed it skillfully into the air, catching it by the blade. He narrowed his eyes, commanding submission. "Let me pass."

The vermin lowered their weapons cautiously, parting down the middle, creating a row towards the cairn. Baelin walked between them, blade at the ready, still dragging the dead weasel.

"I've waited too many seasons for the ol' fool's age to get the best of 'im. To inherent his crew, and the title of cap'n. We're could be a strong lot, killin', plunderin', and takin' what is ours!" The stoat reached the cairn, stepping on the grave that it marked. He stared at it ruefully for what seemed like hours, to the crew. The stoat sniffed and blinked back a tear.

"If you lot liked Cludge so much, why don't you stay with him?" The stoat tossed the cold body of Slagtooth into the cairn like a bag of rotten produce, knocking it over.

He turned to his crew, pulling his arms out wide, showing off even more deadly knives. "Who's next?" The crew shuffled nervously and defensively, unsure about what to do, and about what their captain would do next.

The clouds broke to reveal a bright, glistening sun. The light danced off of the stoat's pristine blades as he gave a wicked, yellow smile. It was as if he was appointed to power by the celestial body itself. He juggled the knife with ease, tossing it up, and catching it deftly, waiting for any move, or sign of insubordination.

A small, weak rat slid an old, bent cutlass into its old, rotting leather sheath. "I s'pose we haven't got much a choice, huh mateys?" The rest of the group grumbled and cautiously holstered their weapons, hoping the knife flipping through the air would meet some other poor beast. Baelin caught the knife aggressively, causing many of the crew to flinch, and shoved it back into its home in his bandolier. His smile faded as he started barking orders.

"Alright you scum, back to camp! Pack up any weapons and food, but leave all else. I'll march the weakness out of you all tonight, if'n it kills ya!" The crew were quick to comply, avoiding Baelin's sharp claws and nipping teeth, which seeked out anybeast that moved too slow. They were chased back to camp at a brisk jog, around trees as they headed deeper into the freezing forrest. Their new captain berated them with insults and threats as they ran. Two twin martens lead the pack, out of earshot of the dangerous stoat.

"I don't think we'll have much of'a chance with Cludge's boy, Gab."

"Aye, Grub. Let's run off while Baelin's busy with the rest"

The two martens broke into a sprint, and ran right through camp without a second thought. They twisted and turned, and soon enough, they were out of sight. They heard distance shouts as the cruel stoat commanded the crew.

Baelin the Blade was out for plunder!


End file.
